“So you want me to be her chaperone?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“When?”

“The second Saturday in March.”

“Ah. Then I can’t. You know I will do anything for Marie, but I have promised to spend that weekend with friends at Chantilly.”

“In that case, either her mother or I will have to go.”

“Is that so bad? It might be a pleasant outing.”

“No doubt. But I do not wish to spend an afternoon with Marc.”

“My poor Jules,” said Éloïse. “You’ll have to forgive him one day.”

Her brother did not answer.

Frank Hadley was enjoying Paris. Every morning, as soon as there was enough natural light, he would start work—sometimes drawing, painting or studying. By mid-morning he was usually working with one of several artists in their ateliers. Three days a week, after a light lunch, he spent a couple of hours with a student who gave him French lessons. In the evenings he went out to meet his growing circle of friends. No matter how difficult it was at first, he spoke nothing but French, and tried to read as much as possible in French too. As a result, his French was improving rapidly. His greatest friend remained Marc Blanchard.

There had been one awkward moment.

“Did you tell Fox about my problem with Corinne Petit?” Marc suddenly asked him one day.

“I did. When we were at Versailles. I apologize, Marc. I don’t know why I did it. I’m an idiot.”

“Just don’t do it again.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“As it happened, you did me a favor.” And he told Hadley what Fox had done.

“Why would he do that?”

“Simple enough, I should think. He’s helping three of his family’s clients in one transaction. I dare say he reckons that the more he shows my father he can trust him, the more of my father’s business may come their way.” He smiled. “As for our family’s little secret, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to some of the stuff he knows about his clients.”

Hadley nodded.

“By the way,” Marc continued, “you won’t ever mention this business to Marie, will you?”

“Of course not. Never. But you don’t think she might hear?”

Marc shook his head.

“Not a chance. In the same circumstances, would an American girl know?”

“Girls from respectable families are brought up with very strict morals. But they’re not shrinking violets. They usually have some idea of what’s going on.”

“If my parents have anything to do with it, not a word of this will ever be spoken in front of her. She will be totally innocent.” He grinned. “But don’t worry, Hadley, I can introduce you to plenty of girls who aren’t so respectable.”

Frank Hadley considered.

“So tell me,” he said quietly, “where does Mademoiselle Ney fit into all this respectability?”